


Be Alright

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x09, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Ficlet, M/M, holy terror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For one blissful moment, Dean is convinced his heart has stopped. A coldness sinks down through his chest cavity, settling in the deepest pit of his stomach as his vision blurs. Dean cannot see. He cannot hear. He cannot feel. For one blissful moment, Dean Winchester is dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Alright

**Author's Note:**

> This is set immediately after the events of 9x09 "Holy Terror"... Spoilers ahead!

For one blissful moment, Dean is convinced his heart has stopped. A coldness sinks down through his chest cavity, settling in the deepest pit of his stomach as his vision blurs. Dean cannot see. He cannot hear. He cannot feel. For one blissful moment, Dean Winchester is dead.

 _“I always trust you, and I always end up screwed_. _”_

Everything speeds up. Dean can’t make out anything in the room but colours, and even those seem too bright. He can hear breathing; fast, heavy, like its being ripped out of a chest. A gut-wrenching sob tears through the air, and his first reaction is to wipe his eyes harshly, scrambling over to what seems to be the source of the sound as he shakes the boy opposite him violently. Dean can hear someone talking, their voice deep and hoarse and he immediately thinks of blue eyes. He turns, fingers gripping the material of Kevin’s shirt until his knuckles turn white.

There is no one.

It takes Dean a few seconds to realize the voice he hears is his own.

His heart beats painfully, as if his body is collapsing in on itself… As if it’s trying to put his organs through a trash compactor. He wishes it would. He wishes his entire body would turn itself inside out because Dean wants to crawl out of his skin. He’s dreaming. He’s dying. He’s still in Hell. He doesn’t care where he is as long as it’s not here. Dean can’t be here. Because if he is, that means he’s failed. That means everything he’s every worked for, everything he cares about; _everything_ amounts to nothing. That means Dean is _nothing_.

The room smells like burnt flesh and Dean vomits.

Everything he touches turns to decay. No. Decay implies time. Decay implies a slow deterioration into a grotesque and morbid reality, into non-existence. Everyone Dean touches becomes a time bomb.

Mom. Dad. Bobby. Jo. Ellen. Ash. Chuck. Pamela… Even Gabriel and Meg. Every person who has ever helped him, who he’s ever cared for, turns to dust. Kevin Tran is simply the latest name on an ever-growing list.

Dean can’t look at the corpse anymore, can’t bring himself to take care of it. He’s tired of losing people.

And now, he’s lost everyone.

Charlie is in a different dimension. Kevin is… Kevin is dead. Gone. And as Dean turns away, trying to protect himself from the onslaught of Survivor’s Guilt, self-loathing and grief, Sam’s jacket catches his eye.

He has lost Sam. Dean has only ever existed for the sole purpose of protecting his brother, and he has now failed. Sam, and whatever angel is currently taking up residence in his brother’s body, is gone. Dean cannot protect his little brother. Dean is useless. Dean has never and will never amount to anything but a giant fuck up. _He does not deserve to be saved._ He never has.

Castiel.

Cas is gone, too. Hurt and keeping his distance because Dean had asked him to, the angel is _gone_.

But not dead.

This thought forces Dean into action, and he grabs his cell from his shirt pocket, fingers clumsily tripping over the buttons as he dials. He gets Castiel’s voicemail, and the hopelessness that surges through him might be enough to stop his heart. It cripples him, and Dean curls into himself on the bunker floor, babbling to himself: “Please, _please-_ ”

And then it hits him.

“ _Cas?!_ ” he yells from the ground, lifting his face Heavenward. “ _Castiel_!” He sounds angry and upset, like he'd sooner kill Cas than beg for his help, but Dean can’t control himself. He doesn’t want to. For the first time in his life, Dean Winchester experiences true anguish. Because this time there is no room for any sort of excuse, for any twisted reasoning that could ease his guilt: his position is entirely his own fault. Sam, Cas, Kevin... He is at fault for the current outcome, completely and irrevocably. He yells Castiel's name for longer than he should before his voice, raw and wrecked, becomes more subdued. Dean is alone. He will always be alone. He deserves it. “Cas, please, I need- I fucked up, man. I broke it. Everything. _I broke it all_ , and now Sam’s- They’re all… _Help me_.” He takes a deep breath. “ _Please_.”

There is nothing for a long moment. Dean breaks.

Dean does not hear the powerful beat of angel wings. Instead, he brings his face to his knees, half-sobbing into his kneecaps as he bites down on the hard surface. He turns when Castiel places a hand on his shoulder. Dean does not ask how Cas has made it into the bunker, nor does he address how uncomfortable he is with the angel stealing another's Grace. At that moment, he doesn’t have to presence of mind to care.

Castiel melts onto the ground beside Dean, newly gleaned knowledge of humanity kicking in as he wraps himself around the other man, listening to him. “Sam, the angel, it’s in him- says he gone- and then Kevin-” Dean has shifted in order to cling to Castiel as tightly as possible, his face buried into the fabric of Cas’ suit as his hands grip the fancy material. “’M sorry.” His sobs taper off into whispers. “’M so sorry. Never wanted-”

“It’s going to be alright,” Castiel says softly. Cas repeats the phrase like a mantra, hands and fingers pressing and touching Dean in ways he never has before, but his muscles seem to be familiar with. His stomach churns when he sees Kevin’s lifeless form, and the angel does not have it in him to wonder why that is. Nor does he wonder why he’s hurting so intensely and presently, rather than feeling the dull ache of pain he had associated with emotional trauma before Falling. Instead, Castiel buries his own face into Dean’s body to hide the scene from view. He feels painfully human.

“It’s going to be alright, Dean.”

And sitting there, holding onto Castiel for dear life as the angel’s body shields him from the reality before them, Dean can maybe accept that. He is no longer alone. Castiel is with him, and will not let him down.

He never has. 


End file.
